My Typical Angel
by funanyaTHEmute
Summary: -Discontinued- There's a serial killer loose in Los Angeles. But to catch this criminal, L needs a little bit of help from an old friend. L/OC
1. Chapter 1

**My Typical Angel**

Chapter One

* * *

August 14, 2002.

This date probably means nothing at all to most, unless it just so happened that a certain individual was born on this day of the calendar. August is the eighth month in the year, originally called _Sextilis_ during the time of Latin roots, having then been the sixth month of the Roman calendar. With the addition of January and February, Sextilis thus became Augustus and the numerical count altered.

In the Finnish language, the word for August -elokuu- has a literal meaning of 'month of life'. The birthstone: peridot. The flower: poppy.

I wondered what Backyard Bottomslash would make of this.

To the modern Mandarin-speaking Chinese, the number 14 -said as 'shi shi'- resembles the sound of 'more/deep thinking'. As musical sounds, 14 is pronounced 'dou fa', which articulates exactly as 'all have fortunes'. It is considered a lucky number.

For the Chinese, in opposition, the meaning is drastically dissident. That same 'shi shi' way of speaking of the Mandarin translates to something along the lines of 'ten die'. Now, separate the two single digits: 1 and 4. 'Yao' and 'si'. 'Yao si'. 'Wants to die'. A string of unlucky connotations.

Take the Cantonese as another example: fourteen: 'sat say': 'sure death'. Now who's the luckiest number? What would Backyard Bottomslash have to say about this? I wondered which culture she would side with.

Backyard Bottomslash. Yes, that was, in fact, her real name.

Was.

Backyard Bottomslash, the 28-year-old bank worker. The third of Beyond Birthday's victims over the course of Los Angeles's BB Murder cases, also know as the Wara Ningyo Murders or the L.A. Serial Locked Room Killings; whichever suits your particular preference. I'm sure Backyard Bottomslash wouldn't mind which name you were to call it by: the outcome would still remain the same, no matter how ghastly the title. But to Backyard Bottomslash, it didn't matter one bit. Backyard Bottomslash had no right leg or left arm. Those limbs had been hacked off during her murder.

Murder. Death. She was dead. She is dead. And so were two others - Believe Bridesmaid and Quarter Queen. Believe Bridesmaid was the first victim, the freelance writer's last breath taken on July 31, 2002. Cause of death: asphyxiation with a rope. And then followed by post-mortem mutilation - slashed across the chest and clothing re-dressed over the wounds. Why? It was a good question. Why? Why had the 13-year-old Quarter Queen been murdered on August fourth, four days after the first of the homicide strings? Why was her skull traumatized with enough blunt force to kill? Why were her eyes gouged into her head after she had already become a cadaver? Why?

Why could police come to the assumption that each of the crude crimes had been commited by the same criminal? The answer was in the second and third of the three headlining references for this pattern of killings. Did you need to look back up? Did you take your eyes off this train of thought to glance back at the irrelevance above?

Bang. You're dead. Some petty detective you turned out to be.

The Wara Ningyo Murders. Wara ningyo - a straw doll used as a form of voodoo-like cursing, mainly in Japan. Did that mean that the degenerate was of Japanese origin? No. Did that mean that the victims were all of Japanese origin? Obviously not. No theory could gain any prominence.

Why?

The wara ningyo were of a predominately cheap variety, effortlessly purchased in a toy-shop on a child's allowance of three dollars. Believe Briadesmaid was given a parting gift of four dolls, each nailed to a separate wall of his bedroom. The door had been locked, his corpse lying on the bed in an endless sleep. Quarter Queen sufficed with three, her body face down on the bedroom floor she and her mother shared in a cramped apartment. The door locked. Backyard Bottomslash, in turn, was granted but two, right leg found abandoned in the (locked) bathroom and left arm never regained. It had fled the scene. Or been taken. Why?

The Wara Ningyo Murders. The L.A. Serial Locked Room Murders. And now it all makes sense.

So then, were the wara ningyo left blatantly at each scene a sign of similarily?

Apparently.

And the locked doors?

Apparently.

There was no certainty until there was a successful prosecution.

However, the similarity of the three cases were undeniable: each left with crucified dolls, rare and foreign to these United States. Each of the departed left hidden behind manually locked doors, a general sign of suicide. Coincidence? It was possible. Linked? It was probable.

Never certain.

* * *

There were a few rather polar differences between the lands of Winchester, England and Los Angeles, California. Mainly in the population, landscapes, air qualities, natural vegetation, atmospheres - well, when put this way into words, it seemed like there weren't any similarities at all. California was a beautiful state, the largest city Los Angeles envied by the rest of the country for the climate and star quality. But I was quicker to see its faults. Thousands of people crouding the streets (mainly tourists), cemented roads and cramped shopping centers, smog infested breaths, jam-packed beaches and fenced off trees the only original source of natural land and the 24/7 bustle of the city life. It was something I had never gotten fully used to, even after the years that had past since my departure from across the Atlantic. I missed England more than anything, but maybe that just had something to do with the company.

These Americans had lost the sense of appreciating nature and I saw it as the perfect opportunity to help them regain that feeling - for a price. But flowers were too old-fashioned. They wanted the look and color for special occasions, but not the short burst of life. Americans like food. Unhealthy food. So then, take an unhealthy food and mix it with something wholesome for the body, but still flashy, and thus you have Edible Arrangements. Chocolate-covered fruit displayed as a bouquet of flowers. A perfect compromise.

But I should have stayed in England with that idea.

* * *

10:26 PM.

My lips curled downward at the numbers shining bright on my coffee machine, knowing I was setting yet another record for late home comings. Bjork weaved himself between my legs - or rather, attempted the feat. It was quite difficult for a one-hundred-and-fifty-pound dog to do, especially when his back was too tall to fit below my hip. The Rhodesian Ridgeback whimpered, licking and nipping blunderishly at my fingers in a greeting. I pat him briefly on the head, resting a hand to his back and absent-mindedly tracing the line of wrong-way hairs trailing along his spine. The poor animal must have been half starved by now.

He escorted me into the compact kitchen, enthusiastically making a bee-line to the lower cupboard holding his canine chow. He made the task of grabbing up the bag and pouring it into his bowl far more challenging than it should have been, sticking his nose and monstrous head into every movement I made.

I disregarded his blatant, slurping inhale, maneuvering around his magnate form and getting my own form of a meal prepared.

The only thing I had to do was pick up a phone. Delivery take-out was truly an extraordinary invention.

Unfortunately for me, the telephone was hooked up to a charging dock on my bed-side table. Not normally much of a gruelling journey, but inconvenient so close to midnight after a trying day.

Sylas sat perfectly poised at the foot of my bed, genetically engineered dwarfted legs resting pointedly beneath her feline body. She watched me with faultless saffron orbs, eyes seeming to give off the impression of humanistic intellect as she cast my sauntering pace a chillingly knowing stare. I sometimes found myself wondering just how much, exactly, she understood of the world around her. An expected trait in the typical cat, I had found.

My legs locked in place, surceasing my advance after entering a hair's width into the room. I saw it as I made a connection with Sylas's unblinking gaze. The atypical scarlet reflecting from her eyes. Something was not right.

Something was very wrong here.

The answering machine was blinking. Why on earth would the device be blinking? It had never blinked before. No, blinking was the wrong word - too personifying. The inanimate object simply flashed red. I approached the gadget cautiously, lowering myself down to its level in a squat and curling my finger to the edge of the table, careful no to get too close, much less _touch _the contraption causing this all of this ruckus. I scrutinized the irksome repetitive lights coming from a boxed screen, a number one built from two digital bars. Pulling my brows together I lifted a hand, hesitant and debating in whether not I should continue on with this audatious action. My marveling of the _objet d'art_ reacted on behalf of my brain, leaving me no choice but to jam an index finger briskly into the button directly below the screen, that too emitting an alarming glow from a minescule circular shape on the upper left corner. My limb shot back just as quickly as it had darted forward, weary of the possible imperilment.

There was but a simple beep in response to the action, leaving the atmosphere eerily still in its wake. I sunk further down in my position, shoulders raising up to cover my ears as my neck hunched down. Sylas made her way up the pillows and to my parallel side, the bed and posture giving us equal heights as we exchanged a glance. A new noise caugth both of our attentions, both human and animal snapping back to the technological mechanism at precisely the same moment.

"You have **one **new message," an automatonic voice articulated far too clearly, feminine seeming in pitch (could one really put a gender to an inert contraption?). I blinked. Of course. I had know that. But who had left it? Who was it that had such a vital topic as to call for this? I had this land line installed for only one reason - because I was never home. Any person who was obligated to speak with me knew of this fact well enough to disregard any attempts. That was what the mobile phone was for. Cellular phone - business. The home phone was more ritual than anything, restricted for personal conversations only. I believe the number was handed to five individuals, at maximum. It hadn't been used as a source of incoming calls for years.

"First message," the robot continued with no-nonsense. I heard the faint clicking sound of the machine pulling forth the recording from its memory, an only slightly more intelligible clank signalling completion. The caller identification lit up, presenting me with the identification of my _rara avis_.

My eyes widened to their extent.

Lawliet.

Lawliet?

_Lawliet..._

"Margot," another synthetic tone crackled over the line, this time sounding male. I didn't need to pay attention to pitch to solve it this time. "This is L. I trust even those who are currently unconnected to the FBI and legal systems like yourself will know of whom I speak of. I offer my regards for borrowing the name of your close friend, but this was the least risky and troublesome means of contact. And now for my business."

He paused there, my circulation frozen in its cycle.

"I would like to request your services in assisting my team and I in a certain string of murders centered in the L.A. area. I expect of you to know the basics of this case that were released into the public already, likely more based on your own impeccable comprehension. If you are willing to discuss your participation, please meet another associate of mine at the _Nota Integravite Della Morte_ [1]restaurant tomorrow evening at 6:00 PM. Reservations will be under the name 'Rue Ryuzaki'. Whether you chose to meet my partner at this time or not, I must ask it of you to destroy this messaging machine within 24 hours time. I hope to speak with you again soon."

The voice mail was cut off there with a final solid beep, leaving me breathless. L. The notorious detective L. He had gone through the trouble of tracking me down to request my help. Help in a high-ranked serial killing case. I was a chef by trade. What could he possibly have in mind to use me for? He had used the name of the one person he knew I couldn't refuse. He lived up to his reputation, of course. But...

Did he think of me to be an idiot?

L. Ryuga Hideki. Eraldo Coil. Danuve. _Lawliet_. And now, Rue Ryuzaki? Did he really see me as so dense that I would not be able to put the same face to each of these names? Eraldo Coil and Danuve were acquired in a story all their own, but the bottom line was that the titles were attained victoriously by Lawliet in the end. But I knew of that. I, apparently, knew far more of it than he had anticipated. I was nearly disappointed. Had he thought I would have just dropped everything behind? Irrational. I had followed him through every step of his success. Did those specialized agents of his really not notice? Now I was disappointed. A disapppointing reunion.

"Lawliet..." I mumbled, voice wavering. I still considered myself in a state of shock. I couldn't add up all of this data at once. I wanted to throw the contraption that had caused all of this internal dilemma out of the window and forget all of its words. "What should I do?"

I sighed deeply, settling my tensed limbs and turning my head to the side. I peeked upwards, finding another's steady oculars. Sylas was so sure. She had all the answers. All the reassurences. All of the advice.

Sylas had vanquished my thoughts. Sylas had made up my mind. I couldn't be entrusted with the decision. It was Sylas.

* * *

I acted on impulse. Food erased from my thoughts entirely, I had attempted to climb into bed and sleep, hopefully to wake up with all questions fantastically resolved.

The answering machine mocked me. I felt its jeers on my back at all moments.

I couldn't stand it.

I threw it out the window and into the street. L had told me to destroy it within 24 hours. How else was I to accomplish that?

I went back to bed, expecting soothed nerves.

But the tape wasn't damaged.

I knew the tape wouldn't be damaged. The enforcing plastic protecting all of the precious programs and microchips would be shattered, but the tape would remain intact. A passerby could pick it up on their walk, curious as to the crumbled sight. They could bring home the tape, place it into their own technology and play it. They would discover L's message and my name. They would be criminals. They would come after me for information on L. I would be murdered.

I ran outside in my pajamas at exactly 2:43 AM.

I shifted through the ruins, managing to scavenge the prize even in the dim street lighting. I quickly past a glance over each of my shoulders, ensuring I had no eavesdroppers before scurrying back into the home like a stalked rodent.

I tripped. But that's completely irrelevant.

The slam of the door behind my back was an instant means of celebration. Mission accomplished.

Or not. I still to be ridded of the recording and destroy any hope of resurrection.

I immediately cursed the fact that I hadn't installed a wood-burning stove. Why on earth would I be missing one in my home?

Oh, yes. Of course. Because of fire. The fire stove would emit a spark and set the modest home ablaze. I would be sleeping. The toxic fumes and smoke would kill me before any alarm could even consider waking me in alert.

Cringing, I managed to produce a flame on the stove top crammed into the corner of the culinary room. Prying the recorded tape from the aegis shell, I thoughtlessly tossed it atop the heat source.

And screamed. The blaze burst with tripled life, odor chemically combusting from the incinerated tape.

The things I would endure for a friend.

* * *

It was well into the next day by the time I settled back into my sheets - 3:47 AM by the glowing red numerals on my cordless telephone's screen.

I scowled towards the baneful technological object. My consolation was the fact that it would soon enough die without its power dock.

Sylas settled into my side, purring softly and urging my attention to redirect. I complied, shifting my neck and granting her the contact between our sights. She regarded me carefully, thoughts translating with perfect point and accuracy.

Lawliet would be sure to get my constructive complaints over the course of our meal.

* * *

**(A/N) This fanfiction will start off during and completely follow the time line of Nisioisin's AMAZING spin-off novel Death Note: Another Note.**** I probably won't go into the anime much at all - once I finish the novel's time line I might do a chapter or two from the anime/manga but skip right away into the L: Change the World film plot. I figured I'd switch it up a bit and make it a little more original than following the general time line, since it will be more interesting for me to write.**

**[1] My Italina isn't amazing, but I'm fairly sure that this would mean 'additional note of death'. Not the catchiest title for a diner, but a fun pun to play with :]**

**Disclaimer: ...Yeah, right. Do you think there is any possible way in the realistic world that I would have an ounce of the genius it took for Ohba Tsugumi and Obata Takeshi to morph the amazingly twisted and superiorly bomb-diggity series? Keep dreaming, 'cuz I know I will be :D A world where Matt and Mello and L will never die...**

**I also do not own Edible Arrangements. I tried looking up the rightful owners to give them credit, but I couldn't find much. Please don't sue me! I'm not sure if there'll be any real purpose for including the company in this, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.**

**Song:** Disco Flight** by** Rin Toshite Shigure.


	2. Chapter 2

**My Typical Angel**

Chapter Two

* * *

"If you had wanted to ask me out to dinner, you could have just done so, Mr. Ryuzaki."

The man seated to my direct parallel blinked owlishly, face betraying all non-existent emotion. I regarded him sharply, taking careful note of each odd mannerism Ryuzaki displayed. I feared, albeit half-heartedly, that we would be thrown out of the restaurant: the coal-haired male had abandoned his unremarkable footwear very shortly after he had been seated, apparently. By the time I had arrived and united with the awaiting company, he was already poised in position, pulling his socked feet up onto the chair and resting his chin to knobbly knees. Wide, bulging eyes gave the distinct impression of discomfort in his surrounding location. Ryuzaki was, presumably, not one for public gatherings.

He hadn't changed at all over all this time.

Which led me to wonder why he had chosen such a social place for this business meeting. I sighed as he extended a spidery limb, skeleton-like fingers pinching the spine of a thin folder. He plopped the document before me wordlessly, treating the motion as if handling a grotesque insect. I gazed down in interest, brows pulling together I reaching out for the disposed object. It was light in my hands, probably only filled with a few select sheets of paper, I would imagine. I shifted the file, flipping the cover page open and reviewing the inner contents.

A corpse. A rather brutalized corpse.

The folder was tossed the the floor in the next moment. Neighbors quickly took notice, pulling out from their own conversations and scowling down curiously at the twice rejected article. Luckily, none of the crime scene photographs had spilled out, offering only the manila veneer. The other guests shifted, grumbling and huffing as they collectively veered back to their own businesses. Ryuzaki tilted his head, disheveled onyx strands matching the very noticeable shadows beneath his circular orbs. His fingers laced together lithely under his nose, thumbs penetrating the fissure of his lips in a natural habit.

"You really shouldn't be throwing these types of things around so openly, Margot."

I ducked down, scooping up the pictures and slipping them onto my seat, shifting to the side in order to sit over them fully. There really wasn't much of a safer place at the moment, after all. I straightened, pulling the long sleeves of my sweater over my knuckles distractedly. I tried to ignore the slight chills running along my arms at Lawliet's voice. As generally typical a reaction, I still felt slightly shamed by the girlish twinge.

"Why did you call me here, Mr. Ryuzaki?" I requested with a hidden demand, throwing all discomforting silences aside. _'This isn't a recreational supper,'_ I reminded my swooning side. It was far more serious than that. Murder wasn't nearly so juvenile.

My male meal mate seemed to raise a brow, though the actions was blinded by the disarrayed mop atop his head. I knew instantly that the shock of his expression was greatly dramatized; he was never the convincing actor. I always fought with the sense that he did so purposefully as a means of hustling when the real pressure dawned upon him.

"Very well," he complied, sliding straight into the realistic drama without faze. "You know the basics of why I called you here, correct? Speak wisely. Remember where we are located."

I frowned, offended at his words. Of course I knew the brief nature of our meeting. Why did he think I had taken the time to come here? Besides that - who did he think he was to remind me of our surroundings? Was it not him in the first place who selected the rendezvous point? I prayed that he had not become some type of big-headed twit since his rise in the ranks. Something told me I should know better of the accusation.

"I'm perfectly informed of your involvement, Mr. Ryuzaki," I breathed, following his trail. I would play along - he had know that. "My only inquiry is my place in this."

He nodded in understanding, lowering his sooty gaze to twiddle idly with the stirrer of his coffee. "Absolutely expected. To put this bluntly, Margot, I would like you to be my assistant of sorts. Like a partner of mine working in the background. A personal, hands-on secretary."

The heightening arch of my brow was far more pronounced than Lawliet's had been.

"Secretary?" I questioned skeptically. The term didn't sound at all appealing; nothing like I had expected. He nodded curtly only once, never taking his eyes up from the stewing liquid in his cup. What on earth would the great detective L need another 'secretary' for? I was positive he had more than enough willing and able bodies to work along side him. Why go out of his way with a clearly occupationally overqualified persona?

"I admit, I'm not convinced. This doesn't make any sense at all. I'm clearly not a desk worker. Perhaps you misread my résumé?"

The bold testimony brought his line of vision up, latching onto mine. "It was no mistake, I assure you. It may not have been made clear before this point in time, but I'm not ignorant to our past relationship. I simply feel that this situation should best be handled with an individual I have all hope in putting my trust in. I've recently uncovered the person behind our troubles and I believe that you, in particular, would be the ideal choice in my help."

I pulled my stormy gray eyes from his charcoal. Did that mean... Lawliet had already identified the killer? A suspect? The case was practically solved by ordinary police standards. Lawliet's ideals were in far opposition, however. Just knowing the name and face weren't enough - there was still motive.

I paused in my thoughts, rethinking that piece of the puzzle. No, a one-hundred percent understanding of the crime wasn't enough to postpone legal action. It was no secret to me that there had only been three victims. Three too many, thinking in a civilian way. However, it was still under the scale of a high-esteemed detective such as L. There was something deeply tied into this. I wouldn't worry about it at the limited time this moment, though. More important was his reasoning for my particular aid. I trusted Lawliet to know what he was doing; he wouldn't risk more victims simply because of lacking circumspect.

Myself - the ideal choice? A person he had no doubt in handing his life to? I wouldn't deny that I would have unhesitatingly put the same responsibility in his hands, but why so suddenly was this coming up? We hadn't spoken in years: since he had retired from Wammy's house. We had been children then. Not naive in the least, but still less experienced in the world. Were those ties honestly so deep running? There was something inside of our connecting going on with all of this?

"I admit, however, that you are not my only confident," Lawliet continued, snapping me from my private investigation. Had he not noticed my brooding at all? Or had he? "I've contacted another skilled female to assist this case as well. An FBI agent by the name of Naomi Misora. She was conveniently available to provide her skill and has already confirmed her collaboration."

I regarded him blankly, feeling strangely put-out. "Erm...Mr. Ryuzaki -"

"You both have slightly variant positions in this, needless to say. Please, don't call me Mr. Ryuzaki."

I brushed aside his interruption, focusing on his stray request as the man himself busied his hands with the basket of sugar packets being added into his beverage. "Alright then, Ryuzaki."

The tensed silence lasted only seconds, stretching on for what felt like minutes. I watched on blindly as the ten servings of sugar disappeared into the already caffeinated coffee, long, pale fingers weaving through the paper-package remains for any residual glucose. I wasn't surprised - this was Lawliet at his best and worst. Never to change. It was infuriating. Why did he refuse something more intimate? A crowded café in the middle of Los Angeles was hardly the place to catch up. A crowded café in the middle of Los Angeles was hardly the place to discuss FBI classified topics of mutilated bodies and future prospects of death. I couldn't even think straight to piece it all together; there was too much noise. People were laughing, boisterous and enthusiastic, animated in their chats. Did they not know of the serious happenings taking place? Or was this for a purpose? Lawliet selected carefully to halt my proper judgment, perhaps.

"Are you ready to order?" a foreign tone cut in, catching my attention instantly while Lawliet remained contently working. The young waiter watched him reproachfully, the critical nerve in his eyes shining as if he was in the impression that Lawliet was hazardous.

"Yes, we need more sugar. Much more sugar," my date confirmed, lifting his head to make a connection with his server. The older teen boy nodded, his scrutiny captious. Lawliet accepted the challenge, holding the stare long after the boy had gulped and turned my way.

"And for you, Miss?"

I was sure he wished to be at any other table than ours. What the queer couple Lawliet and I made with our blank glances. "Just bring me your finest desert, please."

Brent -I had discovered the name tag pinned to the chest of his bottun up shirt- slacked his jaw. "But ma'am...you haven't even gotten any meal yet."

"Desert sounds appetizing," Lawliet nodded agreeably, his input backing up my statement with a mirroring robotic facade. Brent shifted his gaze between the two of us, mouth numbly agape. Lawliet - hunched and an unsanitary posture, ragged jeans and plain white long-sleeved tee covering his rail of a body, raven hair frazzled as a nest and dark smudges beneath gold-fish eyes. Me, Margot - chocolate colored hair dull and surely frizzed with the light humidity, demure lace dress hidden by the over-sized, olive-green man's sweatshirt that fit my form like a tent. An odd pair indeed. All wrong, but all right.

"Uhm...yes, right away," he stammered, stealing the untouched menus on our table and scurrying away with a final distrustful, over-the-shoulder eyeing. We followed his trail until he had vanished amidst the various bodies of fellow diners, inexplicably silent until he was no where to be seen.

I caught the infinitesimal redirection of Lawliet's gaze, turning my attention to his orders undividely.

"Well then," he sighed, sending a moping scowl to his mal-sweetened drink. "I should explain your first task. It will take place tomorrow, just past noon time."

I was thrown astray by such a blunt proclamation. "I wasn't aware that I had agreed to this arrangement, Ryuzaki."

He blinked. "Oh? So you refuse?"

I narrowed my glare only slightly, keeping ocular contact. "No."

"Then you accept?"

"No."

"Then you intend to further discuss this over a delicious looking terimasu?"

"Here you go," Brent muttered, head bent down as he placed the Italian cake in the center of the table and another basket of sugar pouches to Lawliet's side. It seemed that he wasn't eager to make any more interaction, departing with a fleeting "enjoy" with unsatisfying genuinity.

My vision flickered downward, scrutinizing the cake. Too much shavings - I could tell at first glance. It would taste far too sugary, covered in all that chocolate. The sweetness would be overzealous.

Lawliet would love it. I pushed it towards him without a word, knowing of his eager gaze. He accepted gratefully, silently.

"What more do you wish to know?" he questioned, lifting his fork with two needled fingers. I eyed him, déjà-vu unfolding at the actions.

"Everything. Why me? When, where, how? Who? I want to know it all."

His jaw grounded, delicately sucking the modest bite before he gulped it down, accompanied with a sigh. "I should have expected this. You were never one to just go along with something you didn't completely understand..."

He stared me down, deductive practises snapping into life. "Please retrieve that folder you're seated on. There is some vital information within it's contents."

I scooted, bring the papers up from beneath my bottom. "I hardly think this is the place to be looking through these, Ryuzaki."

He shook his head. "The last page is not a photograph. Please remove that sheet only."

I followed his instructions, taking out a photocopied, minutely scrawled crossword puzzle. Child games? What was this?

"Take a few moments to solve this, if you will. It shouldn't take long."

I bit my lip dubiously, fishing out a pen from my purse. I read the clues over, not knowing what to expect of this. I realized instantly that this was no amateur mind conundrum; no average person could figure these types of leads out. I frowned, brow furrowed as I leaning into the table for better concentration. I smoothed the paper out onto the table, taking a deep breath before setting to work.

It was a mere eleven minutes later when I had completed and solved the quagmire.

I sat up, clearing my throat to alert Lawliet of my findings. He looked up from the empty dish he had been huddled over - the terimasu was devoured.

"Finished?"

I nodded affirmatively, scowl set in place. "What exactly does this mean, Ryuuzaki?"

Lawliet watched me for a still moment, eyes appraising. Soon after he broke our stare, his eyes were diverted back to the fresh sugar packets, hands taking action. "I'm sure you've realized that the answered riddle was an address - that of the first murder's location. That part is simply enough. We're dealing with a specially skilled felon with knowledge far beyond common levels. A genius, one could say. Sadistic, but unimaginably clever."

And suddenly it all fell into fitting sense.

"I see," I murmured, coming to terms with the magnitude. A Wammy's alumni? But who? _Why_?

Lawliet nodded grimly, acknowledging my understanding. "As for the rest of your questions, I think it would be best if we were to meet at your home at the established time tomorrow. Actually, it would be highly practical for us to hold all investigations from your home due to it's proximity and inconspicuous location. I'll be staying with you in the duration of this case."

I blinked, only slightly startled by the declared invitation. I honestly wouldn't mind at all, in truth, but his lack of hesitation was more than my pride could handle.

"I have no free rooms, Ryuzaki. It's a single person home. It'd hardly be comfortable for the both of us."

He brushed aside my reasoning by pouring more sugar into his coffee. "I'll be perfectly fine on the couch the entire stay. Just make sure you have plenty of sweets in stock by late morning."

I unhinged my jaw, not having a clue of any defence. What could I say to that? Lawliet had always been -always will be- the only person to render me speechless.

Our pleasant conversation was intercepted, however, with the appearance of a sheepish looking Brent huddle nervously behind a middle-aged woman. I took in her cleanly-cut attire, the faux gold encompassed chest plate reading 'manager.'

She swept her beady eyes over the scene, settling on Lawliet with a hubris air. "I'm sorry, Sir, but I'm going to have to ask you to put your shoes back on and have you correctly seated unless you want to be asked to leave."

He simply gazed on, unperturbed. "I am going to have to decline that request, as long as you are only asking. I'm quite comfortable in the position I am seated."

The woman scowled, Brent biting back a light grin behind her. "It's not exactly a choice, Sir. You can either act like a civil adult or leave. Other costumers have complained of you becoming a distraction. Your not doing the public any favors sitting around here acting up."

My lips twitched up at the corners, not feeling at all disturbed by the ambush. If only this woman knew who she was talking to...

Lawliet put on a face of astonishment, finding the news entirely unbelievable. "I haven't been acting up at all! I'm simply here, sitting with my terrific company, enjoying my meal. Is that not one of the rights of America?"

A minuscule smirk curled onto my lips. I dwelled on the question of why he was carrying on the disagreement.

"Please leave, Sir. This establishment is made for the peaceful enjoyment of the people, which you're obviously not helping with. I have to advise that you and your date go elsewhere or I will be forced to call in the authorities."

Ah, but Lawliet was in charge of the authorities. How baffling.

Lawliet groaned, defeat overdone. "Well, that would present a problem. Come on, Margot. We'll just have to carry on to your home to continue this."

And he lowered his legs, slipping his feet into the plain white sneakers and stood. He certainly had grown a considerable amount in our time apart. He was a fairly tall man, stature built like a pole. A beaten pole, bent inconsolably three quarters of the way up. Lawliet's hunch had only increased, his gaze at eye level with the lady manager but clearly standing a foot taller at his fullest.

"Good day, ma'am. Let's go, Margot."

He sauntered off, weaving with surprising agility through the tables and packed corners. I smiled, knowing things would be back as they used to be once we were out of the public eye. We had grown up, but not changed. Were were older, but still young. It all fell back to harmony.

I laughed silently, standing and adjusting the casual dress that fell to mid-thigh, making sure the hulking sweatshirt nearly swallowed it up as it came to a rest on my knees. My purse was lifted, crime scene files tucked away safely, and a small amount of money place on the table before I made my way off. Lawliet stood at he door, waiting patiently as I caught up and we moved on side-by-side.

They would never know what hit them.

* * *

**(A/N) ****I also appologize if L was a bit OOC towards the end of this. I just needed to make some type of scene happen that was sort of interesting and funny that would move on the the next chapter without awkwardness.**

**Please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**My Typical Angel**

Chapter Three

* * *

It was rather unlike Bjork to act with hostility towards humans: it wasn't in his breeds' nature. I suppose if I had ever invited any guests -most helpfully and unlikely, men- into my home, both he and I would have been better prepared for this situation.

"Please, get him away from me, Margot!"

"He just doesn't know you, Ryuzaki. Stop running away and let him sniff you."

Lawliet sent me a reproachful look, one that I found mildly amusing giving his position curled up in the cushions of my living room couch. He visibly flinched as the almost 65 kilogram dog leaped up to join him on the furniture, boldly stepping forward and thrusting his gargantuan nose into Lawliet's charcoaled mess of hair. I sighed from my spot in the kitchen, stirring a small amount of coffee into Lawliet's cup of sugar and watching on. Between the two, with Lawliet's simian climbing and Bjork's thunderous movements, my home would surely be shredded in pieces.

The thick tail thrashed about like a machine powered whip, hitting the backboard with nauseatingly audible, slapping force. Lawliet continued to cower into the arm of the chair, limbs pulled in close to his body for the best protection as Bjork's onslaught continued without relent. The animal's head pressed nearly ever inch of Lawliet's fetal form where, if the dog were to suddenly attack with a behemoth jaw, Lawliet would be left with injuries that were fatal, fixable, or serve him a highly unpleasant urinating experience.

Bjork was content with my choice in companionship soon enough, pulling away with a lingering sneeze before fumbling to the floor and trotting jovially into another adjacent room. Lawliet didn't move a millimeter, as if he had been turned to stone on the spot. The corner of my mouth curled up, fingers still working on combining the disproportionate ingredients of Lawliet's beverage.

"He's gone, you know," I shared off-handedly, making sure to watch his unravle from the very corners of my peripheral vision. "There's no need to remain balled up like that."

Like a spring butterfly, the man's limbs stretched out at a glacial pace. Owl-eyes sweept across every corner of the room with each planned movement, his torso only erecting once the area proved to be devoid of animistic perpetrators.

"I wouldn't have thought it of you to have an interest in household pets, Margot," Lawliet spoke, his usually reticent tone flaked with bitter sarcasm as he straightened into his customary slump. I smirked, handing him the cup of caffeinated glucose.

"I've found the companionship of domesticated pets to be quite enjoyable. You do remember the fledgling robin, don't you?"

I smoothed my dress down, sliding into a parallel armchair without taking my gaze from the male. I didn't want to miss any flicker of emotion that passed across his features at the recollected memory from all those years ago.

He sighed, face lowered and shadowed over. "Yes, I remember the bird. It fell from it's nest in the yard, right? Watari tried to tell you that it's mother would still care for it, but you just refused to believe him."

He let a moment pass before his expression altered, lips twitching downward into a pout. "You made me go out digging through the dirt for worms."

I laughed lightly, pulling the image of a far younger onyx-haired boy hunched over on his knees in the muddy grass.

"Well," I reasoned, "our mother's abandoned us, so why couldn't the bird's?"

Lawliet merely exhaled mutely, seeming to be outwardly exasperated. I knew better, though. He was amused and the past wasn't quite as unenjoyable as he liked to make it appear.

He _had_ curled up in the earth for me when we were children, hadn't he? That much had to mean something.

The man's eyes opened, staring blindly towards the floor will chilling monotone. "That bird ended up dying very soon after you took it in, didn't it?"

I blinked, wondering what he was leading to while nodding all the same. "Yes. It couldn't have been in the house for more than two weeks, I suppose."

"Yes..."

I tilted my head to the side dubiously, wondering what, exactly, he was getting at. When Lawliet took the initiative to drop the subject, though, I followed in his footsteps, watching as he shook his head and took a gulp of liquidized sugar.

"Back to business, Margot," he went on swiftly, adopting an air of professionalism. I straightened my posture, ready for anything he threw at me. "My name is not Ryuzaki."

...Except for, perhaps, that.

"I know," I answered slowly, not quite getting it. Did he _still_ think I hadn't figured it out? "You're - "

"Don't speak so openly about my identity," the man scolded lackadaisically, eyes scanning the room as if looking for hidden bugs. "That doesn't matter at the moment. You may continue to refer to me as 'Ryuzaki' but what I must inform you of is the work of the real man known by this alias."

I was confused. He had stolen the alias of another man? _Before_ he was conquered? How confident of him.

Disregarding my lack of clarity, I nodded and urged him to continue. He didn't waste a moment.

"You've grown far too lax, Margot. By trusting a man you didn't know, you could have been led into a trap easily and be at the risk of death right now."

Considering his position (making himself at home on my furniture, drinking my coffee, and being protected by my walls) I didn't feel sympathetic in the least with his attempt to chastise my detective skills.

"I've known who you were the entire time, Law- "

"You must address me as Ryuzaki."

Slightly ruffled, I nodded stiffly. To be honest, this entire situation was beginning to rub on my nerves. How long would he drag this act out for? Should I just refuse to comply with his evasiveness and demand him to tell me what was going on? I wanted to be able to call him Lawliet - I wanted him to _be _Lawliet.

"We both know our true identities," Lawliet remarked solemnly, almost seemed to read my thoughts, "...but it would be safest at the moment to assume there are eyes and ears all around us. I am Rue Ryuzaki until further notice and you will remain under the codename Margot."

There was no other choice, then. "I understand."

"Good."

But it didn't mean I liked this arrangement.

"Now then," Ryuzaki (he could no longer be Lawliet, even in the safety my mind) announced, getting straight down to business and opening his laptop. "The culprit that I believe is behind this case is a man who also calls himself Ryuzaki. Before this alias was taken on he went by a different name, however. You might remember him as B."

I couldn't muffle a gasp. B? Of course I remembered B. He had looked so extraordinarily similar to Lawliet himself that I would never be able to forget his face. In fact, the only features that were significantly different between the two men was B's peircing scarlet eyes and healthy skin tone.

"B is a mass murderer?" I questioned in disbelief. He had never been a normal boy (none of us at Wammy's could be considered normal by any means) but I wouldn't have predicted he would grow up to be a criminal. He was being bred to fight crime, not create it. When he had run away from the orphanage I had assumed that the pressure of living up to Lawliet was too much for him. Not this. Never this. Why? It was frightening to think about.

"I believe that this string of homocides," Ryuzaki went on, either not noticing my shiver or deliberately ignoring it, "is a sort of competition B has presented to me. I am not sure of his motives, but I can only assume he hopes to overthrow my brain power and reign under the title of the greatest detective alive."

I stiffened, feeling even worse. So he was killing as a sort of game? Those people were immolated only to test if L could find their destroyer? How horrible. It was guerrilla warfare at its worse.

"I believe with your help, one who knew B on a personal level as a child, would be very beneficial towards this case and will help me to bring him down."

Bring him down. I wasn't sure if I was ready for that. B had been my friend. Had been. Now he murdered people. That wasn't very nice.

"Margot, please stop hyperventilating."

He made it sound so easy, as if I was struggling to breath at will.

"But," I rasped out, evening my respiratory patterns rapidly. "It just doesn't seem like him. B was always so... _cool_."

Ryuzaki didn't blink. He didn't move at all. There was absolutely no facial expression to identify what the man was feeling.

"Cool?"

I allowed myself to flush lightly, fidgeting in my seat. "It sounds silly, I know, but when we were young I looked up to B. He was my older sibling, in a way. After A's death, I was closest to B as he and I were the top students at the time. He was always so much smarter than me, though, and my success at Wammy's was probably only a result of his influence. He was the coolest person I knew..."

Ryuzaki's apathetic stare didn't lessen. "What - "

But his words were cut off but my telephone ringing. The cordless home phone that I had destroyed the power station to last night. No one, as you know, ever called me on that line. Something was, once again, wrong.

"Excuse me," Ryuzaki said, climbing out of hibernation and shuffling into my bedroom. Appalled and at a loss I followed, rushing into the room in time to see Ryuzaki curling up into my pillows and fiddling with a foreign device on my nightstand. I froze in my steps, terrified at the site of the alien machine.

"I hope you don't mind," the detective said with little sincerity, "but I had an accomplice of mine install this line into your home while we were dining this morning."

He continued tinkering away. I was stunned. He allowed others to infiltrate my home while I was out? They hooked this... _monster_ up to my personal phone line? He had been so sure I would agree to his proposal and bring him here to set up base? How bumptious of him.

Apparently finishing his preparations, Ryuzaki adjusted the minuscule microphone extending out of the metallic box and pressed his finger to a button on the upper right corner.

"What is it, Naomi Misora?"

I managed to unlock my joins, stepping stiffly up to the bed and sinking down beside Ryuzaki. He didn't spare me a glance, his eyes focused on the wall across from him. So he was speaking with his second accomplice? The female who he chose to be his body in the outside world...

"_Something I need to report._"

Surprised, I jerked back slightly. I didn't expect the device to talk back, but considering Ryuzaki had to speak through a microphone (in order to synthesize his voice, I presumed) it only made sense. It was strange to have a woman's voice come out of the cube. A real woman's voice. She sounded pretty.

I wasn't happy. For mulitple and equally obvious reasons.

"Progress in the case? Very fast work."

My mood didn't lighten.

"_No... well, a little. I may have stumbled across a message from the killer_."

"Wonderful."

"_But it wasn't me that figured it out. How can I put this... a kind of... mysterious private detective... just showed up_."

She was an idiot. Why would Ryuzaki go out of his way to put up with this woman? She was of no use. He could have had me take her position. I would have been in control.

But I would have been recognised by B. How unfortunate.

"I see," Ryuzaki hummed. I pursed my lips as he reached forward, pressing another button before turning to face me. "It may be too soon to say, but it's likely that this stranger Misora has encountered might be B in disguise. Do you agree?"

I blinked. He must have cut off the speaker so that his female helper wouldn't be able to hear us anymore. My confirmation must have taken too long for Ryuzaki to wait for. He prodded a finger to the box again, apparently not a moment too soon.

" - _eating jam with his fingers. When he finished off the jar I decided to share Believe Bridesmaid's autopsy photo with him and try to test him somehow. He was quick to theorize that the markings on the body were not letters like I had suspected, but Roman Numerals. Along with the fact that he had a copy of the crossword, I find everything about this man suspicious..."_

"Hm. I see."

_"What should I do? Frankly, I think it's dangerous to take my eyes off him_."

Yes, I would have been able to perform her job without the recommendations. Could she not act for herself? Would she be phoning Ryuzaki for every crossroad she came to? Ryuzaki should just excuse her and buy me a wig.

Ryuzaki took a moment to answer. "Was he cool?"

_"Hunh?"_

"Hunh?"

It was pure coincidence that both I and that useless Misora woman spoke the same phrase at the same moment. Perhaps, beside out vast intellectual differences, we were not so dissimilar after all when concerning Ryuzaki.

Could he be serious? I felt compelled to ask, only subdued do to the open mic still tuning Misora in to all noise on our end. What was Ryuzaki playing at? What was his motive with that question? It was so irrelevant - almost juvenile. Could it be possible it was a personal inquiry? If I didn't know any better, he had asked only out of resentment.

But, of course, I did know better.

"Was he cool?" Ryuzaki probed again, urging a silent (and surely dumbfounded) Misora into responding. I actually felt a tinge of sympathy that she was forced to jump through any bizarre hoops Ryuzaki ordered her to.

"_No, absolutely not," _she said, tone oozing with honesty_. "Creepy and pathetic, and so suspicious that if I weren't on leave, I'd move to arrest him the moment I laid eyes on him. If we divided everyone in the world into those that would be better off dead and those that wouldn't, there'd be no doubt in my mind that he'd be the former. Such a complete freak that it amazes me he hasn't killed himself_."

Her voice penetrated my ears and wormed their way into my innards, seeming to constrict my lungs and weigh down in my stomach. How vain of her to say - she had only just met B! Murderer or not (I was still not entirely sure that Ryuzaki was correct in placing B at fault) this woman was suspended from the FBI for a reason. It's no wonder Ryuzaki chose her - there couldn't have been anyone up to his -our- caliber available. There could be no other reason on earth that Naomi Misora was placed on this case. And with me directly at Ryuzaki's side, I didn't see any necessity for her at all.

I was thankful that Ryuzaki seemed to pick up on my choleric, hastening to divert the subject. "So, Naomi Misora, your instructions."

"_Yes?_"

"I imagine you are thinking much the same thing as I am, but let this private detective do as he likes for the moment. Partly because it's dangerous to let him out of your sight, but more importantly because it's important to observe his actions. I believe the credit for that autopsy photographs belongs to you more than it does to him, but he is clearly no ordinary person."

No, B was certainly no ordinary person.

_'I agree.'_

Brat.

"Is he close by?"

_"No, I'm alone. I'm calling from the bathroom, upstairs and to the back of the house, away from the bedroom."_

The twit. She was calling while the suspect was still in the same building? Did she have no common sense at all? Was she really so dense that she didn't realize it would be far more prudent to simply wait until she and B parted ways? Hasty and witless.

"Go back to his side soon. I will follow up on him, and try to discover if a detective named Ryuzaki has actually been hired by Believe Bridesmaid's parents."

_"Okay."_

"You can use the same line the next time you call."

And then he hung up. I was glad. If I was forced to listen to Misora's clueless pining I would not have held back from voicing my disdain.

"Do you have an opinion on Naomi Misora, Margot?" Ryuzaki questioned dauntlessly, putting on a show of nonchalance. He must have known that the light scowl on my lips wasn't anything pleasant.

"She's fine."

I wouldn't let either of them get to me.

"Good," was his equally unbiased reply, "then we can move on to discuss the information she managed to gather for us."

Which wasn't much. Despite Ryuzaki's assurance to Misora, B was the true mastermind behind any milestones that were overcome.

"What do you think of this Shamus Misora's come across," Ryuzaki inquired, moving away from the communicative robot and settling into my blankets. I was too focused on his forward actions to muse his words seriously. Ryuzaki mistook my blank stare for abashment. "Is there any further reason to believe that that man is not B?"

I blinked, thinking it over critically. It didn't take long. "B always did like jam..."

"Yes, that is quite an unique distinction," Ryuzaki agreed, holding his thumbnail lightly between his jaw. "And I find it hard to imagine that the police would hand over a copy of the crossword to any investigator who asked. It would be quite easy, however, to obtain the puzzle if you were the creator."

It was too blatant. B was smarter than that; he could cover his trail easily. But maybe he didn't want to. Perhaps he was deliberately crawling out from the shroud of mystery and flaunting his identity to L. It was so simple that it was brilliant - it was a personal vendetta. B wanted L to know that he was the culprit the entire time. There was no way for L to stop the murders unless he was able to solve the riddles B left him. It was a licentious maze that could only end with a Pyrrhic victory to either man.

"Although, one point draws the evidence away for B," Ryuzaki pondered. "You see, Misora did not find the man she encountered 'cool' at all. According to your information, B would have been a man who Misora would idolize rather than abhor."

I didn't need to put any effort at all into a melancholy expression. "That's unrelated."

"I suppose so," the man taking over my bed speculated, putting on a show of disappointment. "There is too much assurance that this man is B to let that one strike against him have an effect."

I was astounded by his immaturity. We needed to go back to relevant matters.

"What are you going to tell Misora - obviously B was not hired by any of the victims' families."

Ryuzaki took a moment to mull the possibilities over. "That's not entirely true. Despite whether or not B was taken on as a detective I will still inform Misora that he checks out. That way she will feel more settled about trusting him and we will be able to acquire more information."

It made sense but seemed dangerous. But it was only a faulty officer at risk. Misora wouldn't be a huge loss.

...No, that was cruel. Oh, well.

"Did you go shopping like I asked, Margot?" Ryuzaki said, leaning back against the headboard and looking to be the quintessence of comfort. "I could use some sweets to help me think."

Had he always been so audatious? Yes. Had it always bothered me so much? Yes.

Taking a deep breath, I pulled myself to my feet and started for the main room. "I'll go make something for you. In the mean time, you can make yourself acquainted with the couch where you'll be sleeping."

Ryuzaki's bemusement could be felt rather than seen. "Oh? Well, this bed is fairly comfortable. Perhaps it would be better for me to set up in here where there's more privacy. It is so close to Misora's phone line, after all..."

"That's fine. But just to let you know Bjork has grown accostomed to taking up half of the bed. Be prepared to share your night with him."

"..."

Yes, he was seeing things my way.

"...Your couch is also rather lovely."

* * *

**(A/N) ...Wow. Holy cow! Did you guys just see that black hole?! Seriously, I actually posted this chapter MONTHS ago but it was lost in space. Sorry about that T_T**

**No, really, I could have gotten myself pregnant AND already popped the kid out in the time it took for this new chapter to come out. That's pretty bad...**

**Just to address the issue, we all know that facts about B are very limited and are never verified. I just go with whichever theories I agree with - it doesn't mean that they're right. For instance, yes, Margot could see his shinigami eyes (although I know that technically goes against the rules), but that doesn't mean she knows what they are. I'm agreeing with the idea that he wears gray contacts. Get it? Hope its not super annoying or anything :P**

**Also, the way I understand it is that when L went to Wammy's it wasn't an orphanage for "gifted" children. That status was only acquired after he became so successful (I'm pretty sure it's stated that Mello never even met L face-to-face, and I'm not sure about B). So Margot and Lawliet knew each other as children before L was recognized as a genius and went off to save the world :]**


	4. Chapter 4

**My Typical Angel**

Chapter Four

* * *

I sensed the change in the atmosphere of my home the moment that I woke up. Terrified, my every bone and muscle stiffened under my sheets as I curled up into Bjork's spine, wondering furiously why the dog wasn't taking his post in guarding the house. Did that mean that nothing was wrong? Of course not - I felt the threat myself with my measly human instincts. But maybe there wasn't a threat, per say, just something different. Something I wasn't used to. Was there something not normal in my home? Something that I picked up on instantly after awakening from my slumber but caused no worry for Bjork? Was there something in my house that had not been there the morning before -

Ah. Yes. I remembered now. Lawliet. No, Ryuzaki. Yes. He was different. And there. Out there, in the family room, but there.

…How odd. I had a guest. It was a strange notion. That meant that I would need to be hospitable, didn't it? Even if he had manipulated his way under my roof, I was still a host. He would need food, wouldn't he? Did he expect me to make him food? Was I supposed to cater to him? Could I cook? I was a chef, certainly I could cook. Any fool could cook for Lawliet. No, Ryuzaki. They just needed a case of sugar and something to coat it in. But I wasn't so amateur - I would make him a breakfast that he wouldn't soon forget.

After I dressed. And, perhaps, washed. It was only six AM. Would he be awake? Probably. But he could wait for me to shower and prepare myself. I deserved that much from him.

* * *

"Ryuzaki?"

The man was a vision of disaster. Or, rather, the cause. Allowing my gaze to drift from his primly munching form on the sofa, I took in what I remembered had been my kitchen (my tidy, orderly kitchen) at some hitherto point.

"Your supply of sweets wasn't impressive," Ryuzaki pointed out, tone clipped and plain. "I believe part of my instructions were to ensure that I would have an adequate amount of sugars to keep my energy levels up during this investigation, but I see that you chose to disregard that request. I was able to eke with what meager stocks you had stored, but you will need to go out today and make sure that my needs are taken care of. Is that clear?"

I was tempted to laugh. Not out of humor, but incredulousness. But I didn't. I merely blinked, visage blank, as some seldom-felt emotion began to bubble in the pit of my gut.

"Are you aware, Ryuzaki," I spoke calmly, "that this is a home and not a hotel?"

He gave no answer, verbal or visual, so I pressed on.

"A guest in another person's home is in no position to make any demands. They are housed under the good graces of their host and not at liberty to thrust themselves into an authoritarian role. Is _that_ clear?"

He stared silently for a good amount of time. Had I been watching Ryuzaki on a television screen, I would have assumed that the film had frozen. He did move after a moment, though, turning away and going back to the laptop he had propped on his knees.

"Are you able to make tiramisu, Margot? That taste from the restaurant yesterday has given me a craving. Would you be able to pick up ingredients for that while at the market?"

My brow lowered. "Didn't you hear what I said, Ryuzaki?"

"Of course," he nodded, eyes glued to his work. "It was a question, not an order. Is it possible for you to prepare a tiramisu cake for me?"

"…"

He typed away, not seeming to care too extensively for my answer. Which was fine, as I had none to give. Really, had he always been this way? So spoiled an conniving? Perhaps it was the life of a renowned detective that had made him like this. He was used to being served.

But he would need to get over that so long as he stayed with me.

I took a moment to gather my words wisely. "You must have a large paycheck, correct, Ryuzaki?"

He turned away from his computer and regarded me without an expression. "Fairly. You need my money? Fine."

"Yes, that," I nodded, "but I'll also need your company while I shop."

The words processed slowly, Ryuzaki drilling a hole into my head with his intensely empty stare.

"…No," he spoke eventually, signaling the close of the conversation by going back to his work.

"It wasn't a question - it was an order."

He stilled. The corners of my lips pulled up.

"As I mentioned, a guest in another person's home is not at liberty to thrust themselves into an authoritarian role. Their host, however, has full right."

He gulped.

* * *

"This is dangerous."

"Barely."

"I could be identified."

"I doubt it."

"It's possible."

"But unlikely. No one knows what you look like."

"This is how they would find out."

"Only if you keep talking about it. Shut up."

Eyes narrowed, I picked up my pace, pushing a dilapidated shopping cart (which was missing a wheel) before me through the isles. Now that we were here, I imagined that it would have been easier just to leave Lawliet (no, Ryuzaki) at home - it was worse than the company of a small child. I only hoped that once we reached the sweets section he would be thrilled into submission and ease his complaints.

I ignored all other food groups, my aim only to get to the candy counter as soon as possible. Spindle-like fingers wrapped around my elbow at one point, however, forcing my march to a stop.

"Margot," Ryuzaki said, "you passed the produce department."

I willingly paused, shooting the man an incredulous look. "You want fruit?"

"You need fruit."

"I don't want any."

"It's healthy."

My brow lowered. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"I noticed in my perusal of your refrigerator this morning that you are a relatively unhealthy eater."

As if he had the right to reprimand me.

"I realize that I myself survive almost entirely on caffeinated products, but my constant use of brain power dissolves and eats up all of those calories. People who do not have the same mental abilities that I practice daily should have a more balanced diet."

"…"

It was two insults in one. With a hint of care, barely even there at all.

But that was Lawliet's style. No, Ryuzaki's.

"…Fine," I settled quietly after a moment of stunned silence. He dropped his hand and allowed me to maneuver the handicapped cart down the produce isle. "We'll get some fruit."

Too much fruit. I didn't know how, exactly, he expected me to eat it all. He would certainly need to help. I would make him. There was really no need for him to be staying up all night on this case anyhow. He could chance a normal sleeping pattern and diet. It was a good thing that I had perfecting the art of covering nutrients in sweets, though. It accommodated both of our "needs".

Things went a very similar way at the candy counter. The two of us earned some questioning stares from the mothers and fathers who had escorted their children to the same destination. It was expected, given my aberrant companion.

But Ryuzaki didn't just want candy, of course. With an entire market at his disposal there was no reason for him to settle with just that. By the time we had exited the store he had spent two hundred dollars on various forms of fatty junk. But it didn't matter to me - it was his money and his stomach.

It was fun, though, just as much as it was annoying and stressful. It had been a long time since we had been alone together, no business involved.

No. That was Lawliet and I. This was Ryuzaki and I.

* * *

"I don't even know how you're still alive, let alone so thin," I commented dryly, curling my lip at Ryuzaki's shish kabob of a myriad of Hostess snacks. He used two fingers to slide the frosted dough off of its stick, plopping into his mouth with careful nonchalance.

"Huh."

My lips pursed a little, knowing that he was still holding a grudge against me (or at least pretending to). "It's not my fault you missed Misora's call." And I wasn't feeling the least bit guilty about it, either. "You could have brought a mobile phone."

"The purpose of establishing your home as base was to guarantee privacy and the necessary equipment to keep our conversations away from public ears. A mobile phone would, of course, be useless in both of those aspects."

I rolled my eyes. How immature of him. Wasn't he supposed to be renowned for his mind?

"You're going to get sick," I warned him, abandoning our previous game of verbal tennis and eyeing his munches. "All that garbage isn't good for you. Eat some of the fruit you made me get."

"No."

"Why not?"

"It's too sweet."

Was it?

I chose to give up on all causes, returning to chopping up the apples Ryuzaki had forcefully indulged me with. I would caramelize them and serve them to him whether he liked it or not.

A silence passed between us that I didn't dare to interrupt. If he wanted to talk to me, he would. I wouldn't be the first to budge.

When he wanted to talk to me, he did.

"You should have a family by now, Margot," his oddly opaque tone cut into the air. "Why don't you?"

My slices slowed. I knew better than to try and predict why he had brought something like that up. It would only torture me. I couldn't look too much into it.

"We're the same age," I responded softly, not looking up. "Why don't _you_?"

"I don't live the type of life that would be practical for a family," he shot out readily. "You do. Why don't you?"

His response made me freeze, heart sinking. I knew better, but I still did it. I asked myself why he was asking. I wondered if he cared, if he wished he didn't live the type of life that was impractical for a family. Did he want a family? Did he want a family together - with me?

It was merely wishful thinking.

"I have a family," I nodded resolutely, speaking to myself just as much as I was to him. "I have my coworkers, my clients, my dog and my cat. We aren't legally related, but they mean something to me."

I wouldn't dare add him in with the category. He was Ryuzaki, not Lawliet. For now or forever?

He made a noise in the back of his throat from the family room couch, the sound barely reaching me in my position in the kitchen. I was glad, in a way that I didn't entirely understand, that the two rooms were connected so that we could interact from our respective comfort zones.

"That's it?" he probed again, persistent as usual. "No friends?"

I took my time thinking it over. Did I have any friends? Real friends that I wouldn't hesitate to die for and would trust to do the same for me? That was a true friend.

"…I used to. But not anymore."

I was referring to, of course, Lawliet. And perhaps B as well. And I was sure that Ryuzaki knew it right away.

"What happened to them?"

"I'm not sure. They turned out to be not who I thought they were."

It was harsh, I knew, to put Lawliet at the same level as B, but their crimes against me personally had been equal. Both were guilty of abandonment.

Quiet. I chanced a glance at Ryuzaki only to find him rubbing his fingers idly along Silas's spine. She seemed to feel my eyes, looking towards me and purring loudly. The traitor.

"How so?"

It took me a moment until I registered that Ryuzaki still hadn't let the matter drop. Inhaling, I spoke without thinking.

"They were my friends. I would have done anything for them and put all of my faith in them, but apparently it was one-sided. They ended up leaving me without explanation or an honest goodbye. I didn't like that."

It had hurt. They'd moved on from Wammy's and left me there until it was my turn to follow blindly. I had gotten over it, but the arrival of Ryuzaki, not Lawliet, had brought it all back. I could forgive him, but he needed to deserve it. Lawliet needed to deserve it, not Ryuzaki.

"I see."

And that was it. Was that really it? He wouldn't say anything more? Was this man, Ryuzaki, really so detached that he was holding the Lawliet I knew back?

So it seems.

I went back to my cooking. For a while, until I couldn't bare the stillness any longer.

"Did you always want to be a detective, Ryuzaki?"

I heard him sigh. "I always wanted to bring justice to the world," he answered. "That's what I've always wanted and what I always will want, at my own sacrifice."

His words captured my undivided attention. "At your own sacrifice?"

"That's right."

How odd. Was this Lawliet's attempt of breaking out of Ryuzaki? The confession could have meant so many things. His own sacrifice. He had scarified his happiness, possibly. His ability to hold bonds with people - to have a family. He might have left his family behind to bring justice to the world. It was noble. It was stupid. It was something that Lawliet would do.

"You're still young," I said. "You don't have to be a catalyst for all of your life. Let yourself _have_ a life once you've done enough for the world. Be a little selfish."

"My life won't last long enough for me to be selfish again."

A chill ran down my spine.

"How do you know?"

"I don't live the type of life that lasts long enough for me to be selfish again."

He was scaring me.

"That sounds…. tragic."

"It is."

"Are you glad? That you chose that sort of life? Is it worth it?"

A heartbeat passed.

"I won't know until it's over."

* * *

Dinner that night was immensely uncomfortably. Partly because Ryuzaki refused to eat real food. Also because I didn't have a dining area and usually ate in front of the television. Ryuzaki had taken the couch, but I was still closer to him than I would have liked in a perpendicular chair. Ryuzaki didn't like television either, and so we consumed in silence.

It was unnerving. I thought about commenting on the weather. I voted against it. It would make my anxiety too obvious, if it wasn't already.

"Are you waiting for me, Margot?"

I nearly jumped. He was addressing me. Why?

I shifted. "What do you mean?"

"Are you waiting for me before you start a family."

My heart stopped. What was… Why would he…

This was Lawliet speaking, not Ryzaki.

Lawliet sighed, laying down his plate on a free cushions and regarding me shamelessly. "It's not a wise thing to do. I won't come."

My gaze was unsteady. "Won't?"

"Can't, if you'd rather it."

"Which is it?"

He didn't answer. Suddenly I wished he was still Ryuzaki. This was Lawliet, but not the Lawliet I had wanted. I had wanted the Lawliet who would rekindle our hitherto relationship, not destroy it. I wanted a Lawliet that would let us have a relationship. Take our relationship to a new level.

This was rejection.

I wouldn't just let it happen - I wouldn't contend to his judgment. I wouldn't.

"Tell me the truth," I breathed. "Tell me what you want, not what you think is best."

I wouldn't let myself look away - I had to stare him in the eye and try to make him understand. Try to make him feel what he used to. What I still did.

"It doesn't matter," he spoke, effortlessly keeping our stares locked. His expression, his tone, his eyes - they were all empty. Professional. Infuriating. Not the real Lawliet. "My wants are no longer tangible."

"How do you know?" I pounced. He wouldn't get out of this that easily.

"I've made it that way."

I couldn't accept what he was saying. I wouldn't. "You can still change it."

"Even I can't change the world."

"But you can change _your_ world."

It was his turn to be stumped while I took the upper hand. "You want to be a detective and bring justice to us all - I understand that. You want to leave your own emotions behind so that both yourself and I don't get hurt - I understand that. But don't I get a say in the things that concern me? Doesn't it make a difference that I don't care about being in danger?"

"No."

And again the tables have turned.

"That is the one want that I will allow myself: I will be alone and you will not. You will be alive and safe long after I'm gone."

My breathing had turned labored, my innards churning. I wanted to move closer to him. I wanted to run far away from him. I wanted to embrace him and I wanted to hit him. He was the only person who was capable of doing this to me.

I couldn't deal with it now. It was too much all at once. I needed to escape for a time and pull myself together. I needed to prepare myself for another encounter with Lawliet. So I stood, slowly, and walked, slowly, to my bedroom. I paused at the threshold, not worried with whether or not Lawliet was still Lawliet or if he was still watching.

"Why did you come here anyway? Why would you ask for my help in this investigation if you want me to stay out of harm's way? Why would you show up intending to leave again without another word?"

It was then that I did glance back. "For someone who says that they do not live the type of life that allows for them to be selfish, you are seem to be looking out more for yourself than me."

I closed the bedroom door behind me.

* * *

**(A/N) This goes out to** The 3rd Valkyrie, **who messages me in August about hurrying up with this update. I told her it's be out within the first weeks of September. But, ah... Happy Halloween? Trick or treat?**

**I'm sorry for any typos - three of my keys don't work and I sometimes look oer some of the words that are missing letters D: See? "Oer" doesn't hae an important letter and I don't feel like going to find one to copy and paste in :P**

**And by the way, am I being too round-about with Margot and Lawliet's past or does it work better that way? Would you guys rather see an update dedicated to their life together at Wammy's or keep it foggy?**


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